


Two is Better than One

by EventHorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cake, Don't copy to another site, Greg being amazing as always, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mycroft having a bit of a meltdown, mystrade, pre-Mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:23:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23385928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: Mycroft's small respite for an afternoon nibble takes an unexpected turn when the object of his unspoken pining steps into the picture...
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 64
Kudos: 271





	Two is Better than One

“Two, if you please.”

Mycroft accepted the steaming cup of tea and two small bits of cake from the café owner, allowing himself a tiny, satisfied smile. His work was brutal, at times, it had always been so, but he did his utmost to insert into each day, when possible, a tiny window of respite from the brutality. It might be a short musical interlude, an episode of a beloved television program or, as today, a refreshing cup of non-government-issue tea and a succulent bit of baked splendor. Or, as was his preference, two succulent bits of wonder. From, most often, this quaint café that specialized in exquisite succulence without fussiness to mar the perfection. Just enough jam or cream or glaze or drizzle or icing or whatnot and not a smidgen more. Yes, one tasted first with one’s eyes, but he was far more concerned with the verdict of his mouth to worry much about the intricacy of the piping on a thin sliver of cake. Or, in this case, _slivers_ of cake…

What?

Wait…

Was that…

Oh dear. Inspector Lestrade. Standing on the pavement outside, looking as handsome and virile as ever. The man was simply spectacular to gaze upon. Here, he had little choice but to taste first with his eyes for there was no mouth-involving option to be made available in this lifetime or the next, but if one failed to enjoy the small indulgences when one could, so many sparks of delight were foolishly forsaken.

And what a spark of delight Gregory was. Breathtaking of feature, enticing of form, gleeful of wit and…

Oh shite he was coming in here.

Where _this_ blob of humanity was gluttonously consuming two mountainous portions of the richest cake legal under current hazardous substances regulations!

“As I live and breathe… Mr. Holmes?”

Hide the cake!

Mycroft Holmes prized his long fingers and not only because they could stretch across a slab of cake and hide it from view. If a small amount of… squeezing… was accomplished with sufficient speed.

“Detective Inspector, a happy occasion to find you here. Enjoying a late lunch?”

“More a late coffee, actually. Or a coffee which is not really so late since I’ll certainly have a pot or eight more by the time the day’s done. And yourself, sir?”

Feeling modestly piped icing try to ooze its way through my fingers, thank you for asking.

“Oh, savoring a cup of tea. This café offers a rather splendid one.”

I hope they offer splendid napkins, also.

“Never had their tea, I admit. I don’t tend to find myself in this area unless I’m working and coffee’s a much better work friend for me than tea. When they invent something with more caffeine than coffee, that’ll be my new best mate, most likely.”

Normally, I would appreciate… greatly… the sight of your luminous smile and that adorable little forward-and-back rocking you do on the balls of your feet, even with your tragic and should-be-burned shoes, Gregory, but now is neither the time nor the place. This is a cake crisis of cataclysmic proportions!

“You can purchase caffeine in tablet form, you know.”

“You can? Really?”

That is a dangerous gleam in your eye, Detective Inspector. What have I unleashed? If you overdose on caffeine tablets your luminous smile and adorable rocking die along with you!

“Yes. However, I… I feel, now, that I should not have informed you of that fact.”

“Probably not. I can be a danger to myself in very small ways and it doesn’t get much smaller than a pill! A pill doesn’t taste as good as a strong cup of coffee, though, so I may be able to control my impulses for now.”

“That might be for the best.”

Though I am making note to imagine what might happen, in a non-pill but rather more naked and lust-crazed form, if you _lost_ control of your impulses.

“It would. It definitely would. Well, ok then, nice… ummm… chatting with you.”

Oh dear. That was a somewhat awkward statement. I wonder why? He can’t see the cake carnage, can he?

“Yeah… well, it’s a bit busy in here today and I don’t see a table available, so getting that coffee to take away with me… I suppose…”

It wasn’t the cake! It was something much worse. Gregory wanted to… chat. Sit and share a moment of conversation. He had no idea how to converse! At least, not with a person. Politicians, bureaucrats, financial titans, the slitheriest snakes in the spy community… all of those yes. But a person? Good heavens, no… oh, he’s waiting. Implement crisis management protocols!

“Of… of course, Detective Inspector. It would be an honor.”

This is your fault, Mummy. If you can do nothing else, Mycroft, you can be polite. Well, madam, I can do a great deal more than that and every bit of it failed me at the moment so damn your politeness!

“Great! I’ll just get my coffee, then. Oh, hello.”

But of course! Have a server appear so I have not even the slimmest opportunity to dispose of the incriminating cake. I shall make this Mummy’s fault, too, on the principle of… something or other.

“That was a spot of luck! Usually, I order at the till, but I suppose it’s because I’m having a seat in this comfy chair… and it _is_ comfy, too… that my coffee will be delivered to me like I’m a king. Not that I’d want to be a king, mind you. I think I’d look a bit of a berk in a crown. Even one of those simple models you see for the really old kings in the films. Old as in history, not as in age, that is. So… how’s your day so far, sir?”

Gregory, kindly stop being convivial and affable and sparkling and positively personable when you are speaking to me. Thank you. I am suffering cake-inspired meltdown and my attention must remain fully fixed on hiding that fact from you and every other person in his apparently-cursed establishment.

“It is… it is as ever, I suppose.”

“Ooh, what’s that mean?”

The meltdown also does not allow for showing interest in me. That is how low my life has sunk. Make note of this, Gregory. It is the point at which the world ceased spinning. 

“It means… many issues competing for attention on the world stage for which our government is keeping a weather eye.”

“Ooh, what’s that mean?”

An impish grin… you transcend the standard boundaries of not allowed, Gregory Lestrade. Even with the world now a still and stagnant ball lolling in the universe, you continue to transcend.

“Much in the way of discussion, paper shuffling and further discussion on the papers that have been shuffled.”

“Sounds exciting! I wager those pesky papers give you a proper chase to avoid being shuffled, too. Mine do. Racing about the office, hiding behind the bin, trying to sneak out the window. Mischievous buggers.”

Conviviality… your fiendishness knows no bounds. Not a bound to be found in any direction whatsoever. And my fingers are sticky.

“Your various files sound far livelier than mine, I’m afraid. Are you, perhaps, on a case now, Detective Inspector? You said you only visited this area during periods of work.”

“That I am! I was on my way to interview a witness when Donovan called and said they’d moved the time back an hour. At least I get to enjoy a nice coffee and bit of conversation while I wait.”

My fingers will not abide an hour, Gregory Lestrade. Pay heed to the stickiness situation! Which I am endeavoring mightily to conceal from you, but that is entirely beside the point. I willed the world to stop spinning on its axis to accomplish the concealing, so if you might work with me on this, I would greatly appreciate it.

“A fortuitous turn of events.”

“You get one now and again. Savor them while you can, that’s how I look at things. And I’m certainly savoring this one. This coffee is amazing. Ooh, the cake looks good, too.”

Yes, have your attention drawn to the _single_ slice of cake which is the normal portion a human should consume in a single sitting with their tea. At least you are doing _something_ cooperative.

“It is most delicious.”

“Oh. You’ve… had it before. I suppose.”

“I… why would you say that?”

In that particular tone.

“Because you haven’t actually taken a bite.”

“I…”

Well, look at you with your observational powers, Mr. Detective Inspector. Cooperation is a short-lived thing with you, it seems.

“I have, in point of fact, enjoyed it on previous visits.”

“Glad to know a bit of tea and cake is something you regularly get to enjoy. Maybe I’ll have something, too. Hate to have you sitting there savoring alone.”

Greg got the server’s attention and quickly pointed between Mycroft’s cake and himself.

“Perfect, simply perfect. This is it, right - the good life they always talk about? I’m not sure who ‘they’ is, but they do a lot of talking and I suppose it has to have merit _some_ of the time. Like now! What do you have going after your bit of the good life, Mr. Holmes? More paper shuffling or something equally invigorating?”

I say, sir. How dare you wave your entrancing sense of humor so flagrantly in my face? Well, you lunge and I parry…

“Much more invigorating. A bracing set of administrative meetings.”

With individuals who I would gladly shuffle out the door and straight into the Thames, with any necessary paperwork to sanction the shuffling, if I could be assured they would float out to sea, never to darken my door again. However, each and every one is more cooperative on the subject of cake concealment than you. I hope my observation stings, Gregory. Stings like an angry wasp. Touché! For what measure can be taken of touché when one’s riposte is not verbalized in any manner whatsoever.

“Meetings! don’t know if I could handle that level of exhilaration. I’m a simple man. It’d probably short my brain circuits and then what use would I be? My team would probably say they wouldn’t notice any difference, but they’d be singing a different song when it was my turn to stand a round at the pub and I just sat on my stool staring and making strange little noises whenever I see the color blue. Ooh, this is… mine, I gather. Umm… excuse me, but why two pieces?”

Oh no. Scurry away, young woman and I shall give you a million pounds.

“I thought, sir, you wanted what he ordered. I can take one back if you prefer.”

Betrayal! What has happened to society if one cannot bribe one’s way out of an awkward social situation? Nothing good, that much is certain…

“Not at all! Who could complain about more cake? Not anybody I want to know. Thanks. More coffee, too, when you have a chance?”

That… that is a look, Gregory Lestrade. One might call it quizzical. Or perplexed. I shall, instead, opt for calculating and purely evil.

Though, to be honest… my analysis is somewhat terrified that what I am seeing is _repulsion_ …

“Hmmmm…”

It _is_ repulsion, isn’t it? Do me the kindness, will you, of expressing your disgust swiftly and succinctly so we can terminate this conversation and I can find a wet flannel for my fingers, Gregory. Do me that favor, at the very least. You have failed at every other opportunity for cooperation but this one is more consequential for my mental state than any other that has come before it.

“… let’s see… your fork is nice and clean and you haven’t had a bite of the cake I see there in front of you. Mr. Holmes… I _was_ wondering why you had your hand death-gripping that other plate.”

Greg reached over and shook Mycroft’s wrist until the British Government snorted loudly and released the squashed mass of what now could not even charitably be called cake. It was a heretofore unknown state of matter between liquid and solid, with the perfect proportion of crumb to buttercream.

“That was silly. Did you think I’d care if you had two pieces of cake with your tea?”

Given the reams of pages of mental dialogue I have had with you this day, Gregory Lestrade, can you not provide the answer to that yourself? Very well, since the world’s internal dynamo stilled with the rest of the planet due to my incomparable will and we are losing our magnetic field to expose us to solar wind, which will increase cancer deaths, and strip away our atmosphere so this ball of unspinning rock shall soon, on a celestial scale, be as lifeless as Mars… I shall be blunt.

“You do not seem a man to condone gluttony, Detective Inspector. I… simply hoped to forestall this particular awkward conversation.”

“It wouldn’t have been awkward if I hadn’t had to pry your fingers off a plate of cake paste. Here, I’ve got a bottle of water in my pocket…”

Mycroft fumed as Greg wiped as much as he could off of Mycroft’s hand with a dry napkin, then wet a another and did what he could to remove the buttery material off of Mycroft’s skin.

“That’s not the worst job I could have done. Close! But, gets a passing mark. It’s good enough, at least, for you to toddle off for a proper washing with some soap before you actually eat your remaining piece. Go on, be off with you. I’ll check, too, just like your mum did when you were a lad and were promising you washed your hands before supper even though you were trying to hide them behind your back while you were doing the promising.”

After killing Greg with the power of his mind failed, which was inexplicable since it had stopped an entire planet dead in its spinny tracks, Mycroft stalked off for a quick wash of his fingers and debated sneaking out the window of the small bathroom, then weighed the indignity of doing that, and the story possibly making its way to his brother, or returning to the table where only that _slightly_ -less-humiliating portion of the story might make its way to his brother. Back to the table it was, then…

There were two pieces of cake at his seat. Actual cake. Not one piece of cake and one plate of unholy cake _pâté_. 

“I wager that feels a lot better! And behold! You’ve actually got your original order to enjoy. And fresh tea.”

Yes, something I am just noticing.

“I…”

Mycroft took a seat and found himself at a loss about what to say.

“That was a bit loony of you, sir, but… Sherlock _is_ an arse about your weight and it’s ongoing, so I’m thinking this is an old issue. Being a bit heavy, I mean.”

“When I was much younger, yes.”

“I know a few like that. Lean as a pencil now, but you see snaps of them when they were kids or at Uni and they had a touch more, or a lot more, flesh to them. What does it matter, though? Even if they had that extra flesh now. People are too concerned about things like that…”

You say that, Detective Inspector, as someone who is proportioned most agreeably.

Ha! I went the other way, actually. Skinny and stringy as a lad and now…”

Oh dear, internal muting function seems to have malfunctioned. And at a terribly inconvenient time. Is nothing cooperating with me today? Did I miss a memo?

“… I’ve got a tidy layer of insulation for those cold winter nights.”

“I… yes, I would not apply the term, stringy, however, you are not what I would term plump, either.”

“Clothes hide a lot. If you saw me naked, you might think a bit differently. Oh… that was a bit inappropriate of me…”

Not at all, Detective Inspector. Please do go on and in detail. You owe me this much after I stopped the world in your honor.

“… in any case, I’ve got my share of plump. And not only in the arse area, which is rather hard to hide even with clothing…”

Your bottom is a national treasure that should be immortalized in works of art to hang in… well, some of the more avant-garde galleries, but they would be proud to do so.

“… and I don’t worry much over it. You’re a slim, fit fellow now and were a touch chubbier as a kid. Doesn’t matter and I know you do a spot of running to keep that fighting trim, so…”

The memo was definitely missed!

“How do you know I run?”

“Well, Sherlock’s mentioned you have a treadmill. Admittedly, he did say you crushed it under your hooves, but he’s a brat. Better evidence, though, is… I’ve _seen_ you run, too.”

Not. Possible.

“I rather think not.”

“I rather think so, because there’s this chap that looks, coincidentally, exactly like you who runs in the same park I do, though a bit earlier usually, I suspect. I normally see you when you’re looking like you’ve got your stride going and worked up a bit of sweat.”

No… that is absolutely not…

“It was somewhat rude of that chap to nearly run you down with his skateboard yesterday, wouldn’t you say?”

Rude… Oh, here we go…

“That blackguard! Not only was he entirely oblivious to others around him, he had not the simple courtesy to apologize and… oh dear.”

I have been hoist by my own petard. It was not a pleasant experience.

“I _was_ going to dart over and see if you were alright, sir, but you picked right back up again and continued on, no limping or anything.”

He knew. Gregory knew. Gregory had _seen_ … this was a disaster. Historians thought Pompeii was a disaster but only because they had yet to learn of this apocalyptic event. New chapters would have to be written for the history books. Hopefully, they would not be illustrated. Oh what did it matter, he was five minutes from death by mortification and the dead cannot fret over an unflattering portrait.

“You… you never mentioned you knew I ran. Never once when we have spoken previously.”

“Well, no, because… it wasn’t something I was sure you wanted anyone to know. Seems all the films show the rich and powerful having their run in some posh and exclusive health club, in the posh and excusive health room in their palatial homes or trotting along their private beach, not running where common people like me can see.”

You are not common, Detective Inspector. You are positively singular. No other individual could destroy me utterly in a scant few minutes the way you have done so, so effortlessly. Let us add another few embarrassing pages to my history chapter, shall we?

“I enjoy, when possible, running outdoors. I find it grounding to, with some regularity, be reminded of the people who my work impacts, though they will never know of it. To see them doing their own manner of exercise, conversing, taking fresh air, pushing a pram or enjoying a moment of rest on a bench… it is terribly easy in my day to forget that my efforts are not theoretical or operating only on a scale where thousands are looked upon as a minimal quantity.”

“That’s…”

I hope the axe you swing is a sharp one, Gregory. I would prefer my life end quickly and with as little agony as possible.

“… truly wonderful, sir.”

Pardon?

“There’s so many, too many, who forget that what we do is service. We’re here to help, keep people safe, maintain order because anarchy is sexy only in novels. Now I know you’re just a simple paper shuffler…”

The impish grin! I… honestly, I have no idea what I am feeling right now besides the bliss of clean fingers. Is there a word that encompasses hopeful and befuddled and enamored of impishness? All swaddled in a gentle waft of tea and baked goods?

“… but I’ve caught enough hints over time to know those shuffled papers are important. Important with a capital I and written in fancy script with one of those pens that cost more than a house. But, it’s for the people. The people you see on the street, in the shops, in the parks and it’s easy to forget that. I’ve known my unhappy share in the police profession who forgot that and can see far too easily how many in government have, too.”

“That… thank you, Detective Inspector. That…”

My emotions are beginning to rise from their grave for acknowledgement and… damn it all, I care not!

“… that is meaningful to me that you feel that way.”

“You deserve it, sir. Just like you deserve your cake! Come on, I can’t be the only one indulging myself, can I?”

No, no you cannot. That would be extremely rude and that would be poor payment for… your being you. Who is someone more… exceptional than even I had imagined. And I had imagined a quantity of exceptionality what was staggeringly robust…

“That would violate the rules of hospitality and camaraderie, I fear.”

“Normally, I’m game for a bit of violation, but not when cake is involved. Let me have a bite of this beauty and… oh. Oh, that’s good. That’s _really_ good.”

“The Tahitian vanilla provides the perfect support to the lemon, does it not?”

“I’d say so. I couldn’t have told you what type of vanilla was used, but I like it when there’s something… rich… underneath it the tartness. Do you usually get the same thing or do you ever mix it up?”

“They make an exceedingly good chocolate gateau and I sometimes purchase that.”

“But, do you ever do a piece of chocolate _and_ a piece lemon. Or, I noticed their tarts and I have to admit I would have a very hard time choosing just one type to enjoy with my coffee.”

“Do you mean… order two different sorts? At once?”

“I do, at that.”

“Oh… no, I normally would never consider such a thing. It… is seems a bit…”

“Brilliant?”

Now that you mention it…

“Perhaps…”

“If the… symmetry aspect is bothering you…”

Your perception is flawless, Gregory.

“Then… I could order two of one and you could order two of the other and we could do some… sharing.”

There was a great deal to process in that statement. It would take a computer of highly advanced design to unpack the elements and concoct a probability matrix for meaning and intent.

“Uhhhhhhh…”

A computer which, apparently, does not reside in this head. Use an abacus then, you blithering numpty! Count on your sodding toes!

“… that is a positively stunning example of critical thinking and problem solving.”

“Wasn’t just my handsome face and plump arse that got me a DI spot, you know.”

That I do… and I find it wildly exciting…

“A well-deserved posting. One that should be rewarded with another bite of cake!”

“My very thought!”

“And…”

Use your excitement for fortitude!

“… do you think we should pre-plan our, shall we say, division of assets or wait until we next arrive and see what is most… inviting?”

For I would very much enjoy meeting you here again, Gregory. Even if only for the collegiality and conversation I was pooh-poohing earlier when the Earth was bereft of spin.

“Ooh… I _am_ a staunch advocate of inviting assets. Let’s wait and see what beckons sultrily from the pastry case.”

Where was an officer of the court to duly record Gregory’s testimony so it could not be denied later? Lazy sods… tuck a law degree in their pockets and they swan off for wine and tapas when they are supposed to be doing important work for The British Government.

“We, then, have an accord.”

“Great! Let me know when you’re free. I know! Leave a note under a rock behind that tree that looks like a cricket standing upright to the right of the running path in the park. It’ll need to be in code so some other bastard doesn’t find it and dash over to buy all our baked lovelies before we even get a single bite.”

Raise eyebrow 2.1 mm, implement a modification of Smirk #4, twiddle fork for no more than three… twids and… yes! Gregory is giggling! My interpretable-in-multiple-ways affectation was a success!

“Very well, and I shall leave the decryption key to the code with the gentleman who staffs the refreshment cart at the East end of the park. Use the passphrase – The swan is more dangerous than the lion – and he shall relinquish the information.”

“Francis? That cheeky bugger. I always knew there was something going on with him. Got that sort of gleam in his eye that says the whole coffee vendor thing is just a cover for his secret agent identity.”

“You must keep that very close to vest, Detective Inspector.”

“My lips are sealed! Well, not now, because then I wouldn’t be able to enjoy my tasty cake, but as soon as I’ve hoovered up the last speck from my plate, they’re sealing shut.”

“And, next time, it shall be two forms of speck requiring your hoovering efforts.”

“Two is better than one, I must admit.”

“For many things.”

“I fully agree.”

Such as coffee meetings, Mr. Holmes. Or… shared runs in the park. Sex. Two is an amazingly good number when it comes to sex. Much, much, much better than one. Not that it’ll ever happen, except in my wildly-active imagination, but you are a much more… vibrant… man than even I imagined and I imagined someone _fantastically_ vibrant. No matter what, though, two is a great number for people sitting at a table, having a pleasant time and I genuinely _am_ anxious to do this again. Two is very much better than one for some things and I’m delighted to be a two with you, sir. For all cake and not-cake related, activities…


End file.
